The Adventures of Moby Dick
by TheMusicalPoet
Summary: How are Grissom and Sara suddenly so close? What happened between them that erased all the tension? Did they finally reveal their true feelings? Takes place after Committed and moves to PostFinale. Angst. GSR. Rated M for later chapters. R&R please!
1. Committed

April 28, 2005

Gil Grissom, Nick Stokes, and Sara Sidle were sitting at the table in the lunchroom, awaiting the end of their shifts. Grissom sat at the far end of the table, while Nick and Sara sat on either side. They were each starting to show the subtle signs of fatigue. Nick's eyes were drooping, his navy blue shirt was slightly wrinkled, and the pantlegs of his jeans were damp and muddied from the rain. Sara slumped forward in her chair, her chin resting in her hands and her eyes straining to stay open. Even Grissom, as proper as he usually looked in his black pants and polo shirt, looked a little worn as a few of his grey curls sat slightly out of place on his forehead.

Grissom and Sara and had just returned from the psych hospital after dealing with the murder of a patient who was killed by one of his nurses. The accused nurse had been having an intimate relationship with her son, who was, coincidentally, another patient in the hospital. She'd used her son to fill the void of her dead husband who had died several years earlier. Her son had taken the blame for the murder, but it was science that managed to reveal the true culprit.

Nick had also recently finished working on a case that had led him all up and down the strip, tracking down person after person, but to no avail. Needless to say, he needed a break. And possibly even a shower.

The cases had taken their tolls on the CSI's, but had also inspired some passionate discourse.

"You know," Nick said, his gaze downcast, "it still astounds me what parents can do to their children." He eyes flashed inwardly, as though he was recalling some distant, disturbing memory. Grissom and Sara both understood. "It's no wonder some people turn out to be such wackjobs. It's... insanity."

Grissom nodded once. "Killers are made, not born, Nick. Killers are forged by the hands at which they grow."

Sara glanced at Grissom. Nick laughed bitterly, shaking his head with quiet disbelief. "Yeah, well thank goodness there isn't some sort of 'murder gene'. Now _that_ would be a catastrophe to modern science." Silence suddenly flooded the room as he waited for their responses. Sara and Grissom both looked uncomfortable. "What," Nick said, obviously confused. "You... don't think there _is_ a muder gene..."

"No," Sara and Grissom said simultaneously. Sara looked sideways at Grissom, whose lips were pursed in a subtle fit of embarrassment.

Nick flashed a knowing smile at the duo and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, that's a relief." He stood up. "I think Cath and Warrick have already punched out. I think I will join them, if you don't mind. I'll see you folks tomorrow." He gave them a weary wave and left the room. Not until the soft thud of his workboots had faded did Grissom and Sara dare to breathe.

Each of them was lost in thought. The room was lit by a modest light fixture suspended from the ceiling. Its incessant hum detracted from the activity that rumbled beyond the windows. There were a few dainty appliances lining the counter on the back wall, a modest couch, and the glass table at which they were seated with six leather-upholstered office chairs surrounding it.

"Sara," Grissom said, suddenly breaking the silence. "I wanted to ask if you were okay after what happened today at the hospital."

"Hm?" she said. She'd had her arms crossed and was mindlessly staring at her feet through the glass tabletop. She uncrossed them and leaned back. "Sorry?"

Grissom sat back and let his hand fidget with his glasses on the table. He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh," she said, recalling, against her will, the horror that had befallen her in the nurses' station. She had been locked in with a deranged patient --the son of the accused nurse --the sharp end of a clay pot handle held up against her neck. Grissom had watched helplessly through the glass while a worker tried to open the door. "Yes," she said quickly. She tried to smile. "Yeah... yeah, I am." He nodded. "Uh," she said, feeling suddenly awkward, "I think I-" She stood up to leave but Grissom interrupted her.

"Please," he said. "Stay." His expression showed concern.

Sara seemed a bit flustered. "Umm, okay." She wanted more than anything to be anywhere butsitting there in the lunchroom alone with Gil Grissom. His presence made her behave strangely. It always had. She never quite knew what he was thinking or how he felt. Then again, she never really gave him the chance to express those things either. She overtalked. She rambled. She flirted. She made comments with malicious undertones. He made her feel like a teenager again. They were, of course, good friends and co-workers, but they were not usually okay alone together, especially during their time off duty. Cases were fine. Things like that were fine. Everything else was, well, difficult.

"We got interrupted earlier," he started. "You never finished telling me about what happened and I-"

"It's okay," she heard herself say. "Things like that... it's just part of the job."

Grissom watched her. "He's going to be okay, you know," he said, referring to the patient who had then turned the handle on himself. "Are you?"

Sara glared straight ahead of her. "I already-" She stopped and stood up, knocking her chair back. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought to herself. In a sudden burst of frustration, she shouted, "You know, it's not your job to constantly be checking up on me."

He stared at her in disbelief and she stared right back, her chest heaving as she breathed.

_God, Grissom!_ she thought. _You drag stuff out of me, then close yourself off. You tell me you want me, and your behaviour suggests otherwise. You tell me you don't want me, and your behaviour suggests otherwise. You poke. You prod. You flirt. You tell me you care. You're indifferent. You're a rock. You're a robot. You're concerned. You're obsessed. You're oblivious. You're... a complete, damn mystery! Damn it, Grissom! What do you want from me!_

He looked almost hurt. Deep down, she hated causing him stress and usually scolded herself for doing so later. But this time she was mildly glad to know she wasn't alone.

He sighed. "It _is_ my job."

"You're my boss. This stuff... it shouldn't matter to you."

He furrowed his brow. "I'm your friend. It does."


	2. Sifting

April 28, 2005 (cont'd)

Sara stood helplessly before Grissom, not knowing what to do. Things between them had become so confusing. It used to be that some days, she'd get up just to see his face. That had certainly been the case when she first came to Vegas. He had been the proud scientist, and she his doting student. His "grasshopper", if you will. In the beginning, he had treated her like a prize butterfly. Now she often wished she wouldn't have to see him at all. He hovered like prison guard on the graveyard shift. He never seemed to notice the look in her eyes. It was one she had once seen reflected in his. Now it was gone.

_I'm your friend. It does matter._

It was cruel of him to make her think, as he often did, that something might change between them.

Now Grissom stood up, walking towards her. He knew things weren't okay between them. He figured so many times that he'd said or done the wrong things. He hadn't ever wanted to upset her. He was only trying to make things better between them. But not knowing how to, he could only ever resolve to stay quiet. The saying goes, he once recalled, _If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all._ He'd modified it, though, for his own purposes: _If you don't have anything productive to say, keep your damn mouth shut._ But there was a time when he hadn't heeded his own advice. He'd gotten Sara involved before he could even sort out his feelings for her. He had always meant every word that ever slipped out of his mouth in her presence...

_Since I met you.  
__You look nice.  
I need you.  
__I'm not worried... I'm concerned.  
__It matters to me. _

... but he never knew how far he would go beyond that -- how far he _could _go. His career was his life, no matter how much hated the stereotype. He didn't know how to channel his feelings for her. Things slipped out, and as a result he'd confused her. But really, his decision wasn't his fault. After all, it _was_ his decision to make. He figured she could be as cold as she wanted. He would always meet intimidation with silence, commingling with a general curtness. He could be as closed off as a butterfly in a cocoon.

But he was starting to hate it. Even though he knew she was frustrated with him, he still wanted to try. He _was_ her friend. It _did _matter.

He walked past her to the door. Sara still looked a bit taken aback as she watched him. He scanned the hallways and turned to her. His icy, blue eyes probed her face. "Come. We'll go to my office." She didn't seem to be too keen on going, but he threw her a comforting glance and took her hand, leading the way.

* * *

Grissom's chair was empty. Sara was seated in theone on the opposite side of his desk, and Grissom had pulled up a spare one to sit facing her. He felt as though he was holding her hostage. 

"The hospital," he started, placing a hand on the arm of her chair.

Sara had an inward expression on her face. "Yeah." _You looked like you wanted to jump through that window and save me._ "Umm, I told you, actually, about my mother..." Grissom nodded. "There's not much more to tell," she said, swallowing.

Grissom opened his mouth as if to say something, and then thought better of it. Instead, he started again, asking, "Would you tell me if there was something to tell?"

Sara just stared.

"I mean, is it because it's _me_ asking you? Because of..."

She shook her head. "No, Grissom. I- I almost got killed today. Forgive me if I seem a little unlike myself."

Silence.

Then he asked, "What about us? Are we okay?"

She looked away, an incredulous expression on her face. "Is that what this is about? I freak out at the hospital, I tell you I'm fine, and then you don't believe me because I'm saying it to _you_? I am _not_ a mental case, Grissom. I would know when I do or don't need help."

He looked down, wincing as if every word she spoke caused him pain. Right now, he felt he was just being her boss. A little less than that, even. He looked up, trying again. "You know, I've always been here for you."

She laughed bitterly. "Have you? Do you really think you've made yourself available to me so that I could talk to you? About anything? Everything? Do I have to cry again, Grissom? Do I have to get suspended again-- fired, even, for you to show me that you care even a fraction of how much I cared about you?"

His eyes were wide. He was speechless.

After a moment, she regretted what she'd said. He had made his intentions clear long ago when nothing happened between them. When he'd said _No_. But he was still trying. "I'm... I'm sorry," she stuttered. "This is not how this was suppose to happen." She paused. "I appreciate your..." But she stopped. She seemed to not know how to finish her sentence. Without warning, she stood up and tore out of his office.

Grissom let his head hang. _Will this ever stop?_


	3. Drifting

April 28, 2005 (cont'd)

Gilbert Grissom, forensic scientist, entomologist, and crime scene investigator, hardly ever gave up on his cases. _There is always a clue_, he had always preached to his team. He repeated the phrase in the back of his mind as he set out into the parking lot at the lab. _There is always a clue_, he almost said aloud as he finally stumbled across Sara's car in the crowded lot. Its dark coat of paint looked almost black in the blue morning light, but he recognized the plates. She_ can't be too far, _he concluded upon further inspection.

He left the lot, basing his search for her on instinct. Maybe he didn't know her _extremely_ well, but he liked to think he knew her just enough. After all, they had worked together for five years.

After a short while of searching, a look of enlightenment spread across his face. He knew where she was. Without a moment's hesitation, he veered away from the busy street and started down a pathway.

* * *

Sara Sidle was standing, arms crossed, at the bank of a small, flowing river. The moon above her head was fading in the morning sky and a furious pink was looming on the horizon. A breeze caught her hair and wisped it across her face. She pushed the strands back behind her ears. 

She felt horrible about how she had reacted with Grissom. She had tried to rationalize her outlandish actions by telling herself that he had provoked her.

_Have you ever gone a week without a rationalization?_ his voice echoed in her mind.

She shook her head. It wasn't fair. For years, she had never known what he was truly thinking and feeling. Their relationship had always been a gray area. Comments had slipped out. Gazes were exposed. A spark did exist, she knew, but the flame never took, and now things seemed cold and dead. She wanted to forgive him. She wanted to try. But she was just so angry and confused.

A moment of silence. The flowing water calmed her. It reminded her of the river that flowed by her foster parents' home when she was younger. Calm. Peaceful.

Suddenly, she sensed movement behind her.

"There you are," a warm, husky voice spoke.

Sara recognized it instantly. "Grissom. How did you know I'd be here?"

"As everyone knows," he responded, "meditation and water are wedded for ever."

She turned and saw him standing there, his gaze cast to the water. He had just produced a quotation in the usual, charming, know-it-allway that he always did. Despite the situation, she couldn't help but be amused, if not intrigued. "I know that one," she said. "What's it from?"

"Moby Dick," he replied, matter-of-factly. "The very first chapter."

Sara recalled the conversation they'd had earlier. _I had just read Moby Dick,_ she'd explained to him, comparing a drawing she'd made in the sixth grade to their patient's art work. _Sometimes a dying whale's just a dying whale. _She felt warm inside.

"Sara," Grissom said, confrontationally. She glanced over. . "I don't ever mean to pry." It seemed hard for him to say

"I know," she said, guilt flooding her core. "I know that, Grissom."

"I don't want... I want things to be okay between us," he said. "I was concerned today -- not as your boss, but as your friend. I know that maybe I'm not the greatest..." He couldn't say it, so he skipped over it and continued, "But I've only ever had the best intentions."

Sara swallowed hard and looked away. "It's just so confusing."

"I know."

"I never know what to think."

"I know."

"I can never tell if you're wanting or needing something from me. I can never figure out what you mean when you say-"

"I know," he cut her off.

"Do you?" she looked at him, her brown eyes glistening in the morning light.

"I do," he answered. "I'm sorry." He let his shoulders slump as he inhaled. "I've needed time. I've needed space... to sort things out." He looked at her. "I want to try. I want to try and start over. To be friends."

"Friends?" she asked, not knowing whether she sounded hopeful or not.

"Friends," he confirmed. He reached out and took her hand. "That's how it should be."

Sara felt a small weight settle in across her shoulders. Was she relieved or disappointed? It all seemed so final. And yet, she felt mildly better knowing that maybe they could build it all again -- the proper way. Right. No confusion. _Just friends_.

As she came to this conclusion, she suddenly felt extremely tired. The morning sky was now a warm, blossoming barrage of oranges, pinks, and yellows. The day was about to begin. She yawned and began to shiver ever so slightly.

"Come on," Grissom said, still holding her hand. "I'll walk you back to your car."


	4. Grave Digger

May 19, 2005

The lights were low at the Las Vegas crime lab. The air was heavy, tense, intermixed with a low rumble of activity. The graveyard shift was far from over and everybody knew it. No one felt the usual adrenaline rush one feels when working on an exciting case. No one felt compelled to lighten the mood in order ease the load of the work night. Itwasn't the typical wave of fatigue that had the investigators knocked off their feet.

It was sheer terror.

There was Nick, onscreen, trapped and afraid, for everyone to see. He was enclosed in a very small, almost airtight space, with very little room to move around. The way he squinted into the camera as they watched suggested that he was immersed in complete darkness until the light switched on for their viewing convenience. He was breathing quickly, tears steaming down his face, his hands grasping a gun. It was a mortifying display.

Every soul in the room stood frozen as they watched, mouths agape, their hearts palpitating. There was something unfathomably disturbing about seeing one of their own lying with his finger hovering over a trigger, helplessly awaiting his fate. It could have been any one of them lying there in that box. It hit home unlike anything any of them had ever experienced before.

If you had seen the CSI's at that moment, you would have understood every emotion running through their mind simply by looking at their faces. They each displayed an unusual indifference about allowing their emotions, which were usually kept hidden by general reservation, to surface. Warrick, who seemed more angry than anything, had put his arm around Sara, whose eyes had grown cold and blank, her lips pulled tight into a frown. Greg leaned against the door frame near the back of the room, his childlike eyes aged with concern as his hands fumbled nervously at his sides. Catherine and Grissom were at the forefront, right next to the screen relaying the video of their co-worker. Catherine's lips were parted in awe, the tears in her eyes threatening to flow over the thresholds of her eyelids. Grissom simply stared hard at the screen, unmoving, and unable to look away. His eyes revealed a paternal concern for his endangered investigator, whom he had coached through many years in the field. He knew that, no matter what happened within the next eight hours, it would be a night he would never forget.

* * *

_  
Three hours later._

Sara stood on the balcony of her bachelor apartment overlooking the busy Las Vegas nightlife. She had gone home to shower quickly, change, and get some coffee. She needed to think clearly, for Nicky's sake. She knew she wouldn't sleep knowing that he was still out there the way he was. The very suggestion of sleeping was actually insulting. Nobody abandons a fellow team member -- a friend.

Her hair was drying in the warm spring breeze. It sent bitter shivers down her spine knowing that she could feel its sweetness and that poor Nick was struggling just to breathe. The image of his glass coffin flashed in her mind. At that moment, she felt so overcome with rage that she felt she might be sick.

She went inside, gathered her work gear and set it by the door. She finished the last few drops of the coffee she had poured for herself and leaned against her kitchen counter, thinking as she stared hard at the floor. She wasn't quite sure what she could say or do to help locate him. Actually, she wasn't sure she would be able to say or do anything at the lab. It was just to painful to see everyone, stressed as they were, oppressed into their professional-like states of reservation. She figured the best work she could do was on her own, and that was especially hard to admit.

With tears forming anew in her eyes, she switched off the lights, grabbed her gear and headed back the lab.

* * *

Grissom sat in his office studying the evidence leading to Nick's location. His expression indicated that he was on a perilous journey of thought, weaving in and out of ideas, and spinning webs of possibilities. His eyes looked straight ahead for a moment, at nothing in particular, and then, as if losing his place, he heaved a heavy sigh and let his head rest in his hands. 

Suddenly, he heard a familiar padding of footsteps. He looked up just as Sara Sidle walked by. She didn't even look into the room. It pained him that they had been so distant lately. He'd thought the decision he had made clear to her a few weeks earlier would help things between them. Considering the results, he wished he'd reconsidered his course of action.

Just then, Catherine and Warrick passed through the doorway. He was glad to see them (but damned if he showed it).

"Hey, Chief," Warrick said. "We've been doing the best we can with whatever we've got on Nick's whereabouts." It seemed painful for him to even mention it. "Archie's still working on the tapes and Greg's doing some more processing..."

Grissom eyed him over the rim of his glasses. _Sometimes I hate myself_, he thought before saying, "Things should continue as smoothly as possible around here. I don't want anyone getting so caught up in this that progress here doesn't continue. Other cases still remain unsolved."

Warrick looked frustrated with Grissom, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide. Catherine instinctively sensed the oncoming retaliation. "We can't just ignore him and pretend he's not there, Grissom! He needs us right now -- he hasn't got anyone else except 'Mr. Through-and-Through'!"

Grissom maintained his integrity. "We're doing all that we can, Warrick. Right now, other people need us too. We can't let personal attachments to the case shut down the rest of the lab, even for a day."

Warrick looked furious. He opened his mouth as if he were about to spit out another protest, but his face softened. He knew Grissom was right, and knew that he hated to dictate it as much he hated to admit it. Sighing, he turned and left the room.

Catherine looked appalled, and then said nothing of it. Changing the course of the conversation, she mentioned, "Archie noticed a few things about Nick's enclosure. There are cracks forming in the glass, suggesting that it will likely collapse soon. That limits the amount of time we have to find him. He said you should see it right away."

Grissom nodded.

"Do you think we'll get him back?" she asked, her expression urgent.

Grissom looked up at her and replied honestly, "I don't know."

* * *

Sara was running out of things to keep herself busy. Warrick had stopped by and told her that they were now working on another case, but she hardly felt compelled to do it, even after hearing about Grissom's direct orders. She decided it might do good to stop by and see Greg. She'd come to learn that Greg was a pretty sensitive guy, and lately he'd been shouldering all the work for the case. She walked through the hallway, head down and minding her own business when she bumped into Catherine who was just leaving Grissom's office. 

"Hey," Catherine said. "Any luck?"

Sara shook her head solemnly. Catherine nodded and walked past her.

As Sara turned to leave, she heard Grissom call after her. "Hey, Sara?"

She peered into the room. Seeing him in his dark office alone, tired and worried, was hard for her. But on top of that, she was still wary of their conversation from a few weeks ealier. Seeing him every day was hard enough.

"Are... you okay?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Not really," she replied. "What can I do for you?"

"We haven't talked in a while..."

Sara's expression was blank. "Well, we're kind of busy, Gris."

"We all have on lot on our minds, Sara. Trust me, no one is more worried about Nick than I am. We're doing all that we can for the moment. We can only wait until the results are in."

Sara's gaze dropped to the floor. "I can't believe things are just supposed to... go on."

Grissom raised his eyebrows.

Sara continued "... everything. The cases, our lives... Us. Are we okay, Grissom?"

His lips parted in disbelief. "Of course, Sara. We're trying."

She walked over to him. "This is almost too much for me. I'm not ready to watch him die like this. And I'm not ready to continue this sterile friendship, thinking it's fine. I'm not ready to forget everything I had before I came here, and everything I imagined I might have once I got here." Her eyes were starting to well_. God, Grissom. If you could just be human for once. If you could just read my eyes. If you could read... yourself. Just... hold me. Why won't you... _

"Sara," he said, interrupting her thought. She seemed startled. He got up from his chair and walked over to where she was standing. He took her hand and she looked up at him, tears stumbling down her cheeks.

"I don't want him to die," she whispered.He nodded.Impulsively, she threw her arms around him and held him tightly.

He was caught off guard by her audacity, but found himself overcome with new feelings. Comforting, wonderful feelings. _Damn. _His personal life had crossed the line into his work life, and he was powerless to it. He was _holding_ Sara Sidle -- topnotch investigator, a first-rate scientist, and... _God, I love the way you feel,_ he thought, hugging her back. He felt emotion wash over him. It was friendship. It was admiration. But mostly, it was how she brought him back to life when, on the inside, he felt like he was dying.Nick was in danger, his lab was half asleep with dread, and here... here he'd found a light to help him make it through.

A single tear slid down his cheek, but nobody saw. Not even Sara.

He inhaled deeply as he drew away from her. "I have to go see Archie."

* * *

TBC 


End file.
